A peek inside

It’s been ages since the last time I actually had the time to sit down and reflect upon my life. As I try to look back to the events of the latter part of this year, I realize I’ve been through so many things — good and bad — but I feel as though I had not really been through them. I don’t have a clear memory of them, save for some that really hit me, like being forced to grow up real fast (in 6 months) because of the huge responsibility forced upon me; and getting out of a complicated relationship (that is, if there really was a relationship. I insist that there wasn’t; I walked out on something that was really nothing.).

And then, there is the realization that I’m not the only impatient person in the world. Yup, someone else is tired of waiting for me. He’s gone. He has found someone else — someone who could live the present and anticipate the future. With him. Not like me who lives in the past (of which he isn't a part), and wishes for that past to have a continuation in the future.

I wonder though: this girl he's found — Is she sweet? Is she smart? Is she somehow like me?

Do I feel bad for losing him? Not really. I felt sad, initially. But I’m OK. I guess I’m through being vulnerable. There are events in life that can make one tough. And unfeeling.

But did I really lose him? We never had each other. And as the song goes, "you can't lose what you never had."

Am I still capable of falling in love? I don’t know. There is so much love in me waiting to be shared. It’s just that I won’t.

Some wounds leave deep scars.

When I'm through with my writing career...

...I'm gonna be a maniquin! hehe!

Garden wedding

I always thought a garden wedding is wonderful. And when I say garden wedding, I mean Tagaytay. (Only Tagaytay. In my mind, even Baguio isn’t good enough.)

But that was before yesterday; before I set foot in Fernwood (Sanville Subd. In QC); before our photoshoot with Agot Isidro.

I always liked Agot. I was prepared to be star struck by her. What I was not prepared for was to be awed by the place. Fernwood is simply splendid — a tropical rainforest (complete with swan and waterfalls and fish) enclosed in a skylight dome-roof that lets you party, rain or shine.

Plants and photography

For some reason, I took on the responsibility of doing the interviews and photo-shoots for the article on ornamental plants for the Nov issue of H&L, though I vowed not to write anything for this issue so I can catch up with my school responsibilities.

It was when I was already at the Manila Seedling Bank (EDSA cor Que. Ave.) that I realized what have prompted me to do the article: my love for plants. With the awesome sight of different flowers and plants right before me, who cares that I’m now about to be dropped from my classes due to absences, and that I still haven’t submitted the requirements due a month ago?

Moreover, as I took photos, I told myself: This is what I’m gonna do when I’m ready to go home for good. I’m gonna own and manage a hectare of ornamental plants.

But for now, let me share with you my pictures. (Sorry, the photos aren’t that good. I still have a lot to learn about photography, especially photo composition. All that I learned from a one-and-a-half hour company-sponsored photography seminar I attended was: use flash even (or more especially) when outdoors. There’s another thing, but I don’t know how to put it in words. It’s about blurring the edges.

New disorders discovered...

...among some editorial staff of a monthly magazine.

Shermanized language disorder
This language disorder is characterized by:

• Massive borrowings from three different languages (English, Filipino and Iluko), the structure of which varies depending on the speaker’s location (When in Nueva Vizcaya or any Iluko-speaking place, the structure is Iluko; when elsewhere, the structure is either Filipino or English)
• Wrong word usage
  Example:
  Shermanized language: Sus, sinisintir mo naman ako!
  Correct form: Sus, iniistir mo naman ako!
  (Now, where has sinisintir come from? Answer: From the Iluko word 'sintir' which means ‘to condone.’)
• Sentences usually interspersed with damn and yeah pronounced in 10,000 different ways
• Accent of indeterminable origin
• Adoption of British accent just to annoy people
• Tendency to use words with double entendre and sexual insinuation (and insist that these insinuations are unintentional)
  Example
  Question asked to a doctor’s receptionist: Ano po nilalaro ni Doc?
  Intended meaning: Ano po ang sport ni Doc?

Patsy syndrome
People with this disorder exhibit:

• Disorganized language and thought (You ask them something and they give an out-of-this-world answer)
  Example
  Question: Patsy, ano’ng food mo?
  Patsy: Oo.
• Insatiable thirst for “Kodak” moments (They would smile or pose automatically at the sight of a camera, even if they are not the subject)
• Uncommon passion for “art” films
• Don't know what they really mean

Example:

Patsy: "Naintindihan ko pero hindi ko naintindihan." "Gusto ko siya pero hindi ko talaga siya gusto." (Ano ba talaga ate?)

Patsy syndrome patients also:

• Have a taste for weird food (e.g., dairy cream, pinapapak;)
• Manifest signs of perversion
• Have the tendency to put blame on other people and show no remorse for it
• Have their own brand of logic
  Example
  If Mini Stop is MS and Country Style is CS, ergo, Goldie’s is GS.

Following that line of logic, Tricky’s then is… TS. (Patsy, am I right?)

• Are a hopeless joker (would even create original jokes normal people would not consider remotely funny)
  Examples:

*Babala! (Asawa ni Babalu)

*Ano'ng sinabi ng panda sa photographer? (Sagot: Wag black and white ha, ‘di ako makikita.)

Chie-chie affliction
People with this mental-linguistic disorder tend to:

• Speak in loud voice, but think they are just whispering
• Get over-excited easily
• Have a speech rate of 500 words per minute
• Ignore punctuations such as comma and periods
• Require at least 300 words to say what a normal person can say in 20 words or less
• Exhibit “feeling-close syndrome”
• Insist on pronouncing the /o/ in names (e.g. Jayson) and honorific words (e.g., doctor) “correctly,” meaning, the American English way even when her sentence is purely Filipino
• Have “motherly instinct” over other people – always
• Have broken trail of thought
• Have unidentifiable intonation
  

Elaine condition
People with this problem tend to:

• Say “Hay naku” and “wala na akong sinabi”
• Have unconquerable fear of feathered animals
• Be violent: (50 hampas per day)
• Find it hard to pronounce "myths"

Warning

These conditions are highly contagious. Refrain from hanging out with people who have any of these diseases.


Treatment

These diseases are treatable but not curable. They may recur at least three times a day and the chances of relapse are especially high when people afflicted with these conditions hang out together. Best treatments available are: a good night’s sleep and food either from Tricky’s, Mini-stop, Goldie’s or Country Style.

A visit to a psychiatrist

Before you read further, let me get something straight: I’m sane. Ok?

The writer I asked to write an article on schizophrenia for the mental health issue of Health and Lifestyle informed me that she couldn’t write the article. As it was already too late for me to assign someone else to write it (who would accept an assignment that involves a lot of research and an interview just three days before the deadline?), I was left with no other option but to write the article myself (that’s one of the difficult aspects of my job).

Fortunately, I was able to find a psychiatrist willing to be interviewed at short notice (I made an appointment with her a day before the interview).

I arrived at the doctor’s clinic on time, but was told by the receptionist that the doctor was still seeing a patient. She asked me to sit down and wait for the doctor at the receiving area, which I did. After ten minutes of doing nothing, I started to get bored, so I fumbled with my digicam, then, with the receptionist’s permission, “tested” if it worked by taking pictures inside the room.

I noticed two doctors look my way while I was taking photos. But since they didn’t say anything, I pretended not to notice them. But I wonder what they may have been thinking, seeing me doing weird things right outside the psychiatrist’s clinic. Hmm…

My officemates reckon such a scene would not elicit any reaction from the doctors, that they may have just thought I was a new patient. What do you think?

(Top) Insides of my bag; (Left) My feet

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MRT Episode

I’ve read (from various literature) that when one faints, his or her vision becomes blurry and the sound around him or her becomes distant (but not completely turned off) just before he or she is engulfed in darkness.

Save for the blurry vision, I didn’t experience anything close to the description above, but I am sure I fainted on my way to work one Tuesday morning (August 2).

I boarded a jam-packed MRT coach at the Quezon Avenue station in QC. I was carrying a black shoulder bag, and in my left hand were my umbrella, a copy of Reader’s Digest, and my magnetic MRT card. What I can’t get over with, until now, is the fact that I was wearing an outfit any woman in her right mind wouldn’t wear when she plans to pass out — a sleeveless short dress (the one I’m wearing in my photo in my September 6 post). Not that I planned on making a scene (hello!), but of all days I had to pass out, it would be on the day I was wearing some stupid dress. Talk about inappropriate get-up.

I don’t know if it was because there were too many people in the coach (there are always too many people in MRT coaches during rush hours), or because I had not eaten breakfast (I usually don’t eat breakfast until I get to the office), or because I’d been reading (Yes, standing), that I started feeling nauseous just as we were approaching Cubao station (about 2-3 minutes after I boarded the train). I tried to keep my presence of mind by telling myself over and over that I was not going to faint, by trying to focus, by taking deep breaths, and by asking God not to let me faint (Yes again, I do pray). Thinking that leaning on something (or someone) would help, I moved closer to the tall guy in front of me and, inhibitions cast aside, leaned on him.

And then, nothing.

The next thing I knew, I was already seated, and two women, one of whom was pregnant, (ironic, isn’t it) were fanning me. Still feeling weak, I closed my eyes; I was sweating cold. Just then, I heard the driver’s voice announcing we were already at Shaw Blvd., and felt someone putting my things (card, umbrella, and Reader’s Digest) on my lap. It didn’t take long for me to realize what had happened: I passed out.

Looking back at that incident now, I’d say the minutes (or maybe seconds) before the actual fainting is the most terrible part of the experience. I felt suffocated, and my vision was blurry. Add to that is the feeling of helplessness, which, in itself is terrible.

The actual fainting is the easiest part, for I didn’t feel anything at all, maybe because I didn’t fall over (like I said, the coach was jam-packed, there was no way I could have dropped). Everything just went blank. It felt like I was in a dreamless sleep; not even a faint sound penetrated my consciousness.

The waking-up part is not physically too bad either, except for the weak feeling and cold sweat.

It’s the humiliation that’s more difficult to deal with… Up to now, I still wonder how I looked and what happened during the 5 or so minutes I was “out.” My officemates have speculated about it a lot. Their most nagging questions have been: Where had the tall guy gone? Had you seen him again when you regained consciousness? Was he handsome?

Duh!

Only Sometimes

Sometimes I feel sexy and beautiful.

Just like in this photo.

I wish I'd feel that way more often.

Ultimate Goal

My daily goal is to act accordingly in every situation I deal with. I admit there are times that I act poorly. In those occasions, I can only feel sorry, do whatever I can to rectify whatever damage I’ve caused then move on; there’s no point wallowing over something I cannot change. I just hope that, when the time comes for my curtain to fall, when I take one final look at the stage that was my life, I’d be able to say: “Well done!”

Fleeting Moment

It might’ve not been the words but the way I said them, I’m not sure, but I know I’d hurt you.

You were doing your best to tease me and I thought I’d better say something witty to let you know that I knew your game. Well, that was the intention; I didn’t mean to hurt you the way I did. I’d thought you’d merely laugh it off then turn your attention to the girl next to me. That you reacted otherwise was unexpected.

I can still remember how you looked. The muscles in your face twitched, followed by the blinking of your eyes. Then, like a smoke slowly disappearing in air, your smile ever so slowly faded, so slowly that I saw it linger in your lips a few seconds after it had left your eyes. You let out a controlled sigh, the kind that carefully releases a heavy heart’s burden. Then, unceremoniously, you stared at me intensely. Damn! You had my defenses down!

I saw your lips move, but your voice was so soft I didn’t understand what you’d said. I’d thought you’d punish me, but you didn’t. You continued to talk in that calm, controlled voice as though you were trying to make me understand. But understand what? You? Oh, I didn’t really understand anything, but your intense gaze had me nodding my head.

I opened my mouth to say I was sorry but it was then that you released me. Someone was calling you, so you had to excuse yourself. I could’ve sighed of relief then. I did, but not quite. I felt disturbed. For in that fleeting moment, I thought I saw through you. I thought I saw a dark, deep-seated void in your being. I thought I saw a lost soul—needing, yearning to be cared for, craving for things peaceful and comforting. I thought I saw a heart, torn and wounded, yet still trying to beat, though staggering in its motion. I thought I saw your pride, bent in its humility. That moment, I felt as though I was given the gift of wisdom to understand the depth of humanity—the many joy and drama it represents.

Yet, more than that, I felt the guilt stab me. What’ve I done? How could’ve I hurt you like that? How could’ve I passed judgment upon your person when I didn’t even know you? when I didn’t really know what I was talking about?

In that fleeting moment, I felt for you. But then that was because you scared me. I thought I’d better fire the first bullet before anyone could ever hurt me. That’s right, defense mechanism.

That moment may just remain as such—brief. We may see each other again, but we may never recapture the magic (or whatever you’d call it) that transpired that moment. Because by then, the stars would’ve already moved to different positions; things would’ve already changed.

Or maybe we’d realize there’s really nothing to say. That what transpired was just a casual talk, like a comment about the weather.

But still, something remains: you deserve an apology and damn if I don’t offer you one.

I’m sorry.


JhannHyanni
May 2004

Looking into the Mirror of Erised

If you were standing in front of the Mirror of Erised (Read Harry Potter 1 to find out how it works), what would you see?

Jhann, Hyanni, and Angel’s Unquotables

I was born a quadruplet, but my parents and the midwife who "birthed" my mother didn’t (and still don't) know. My certificate of live birth didn’t say I had a twin or twins(?) or whatever you call them, yet I know I have other selves: Jhann, Hyanni, and Angel.

We get along well together. Of course, we always have disagreements, but that’s normal, as we all have different personalities and beliefs. As siblings sharing just one body, we get on with each other pretty well.

One night, I eavesdropped on my three selves conversing. It was such an interesting conversation that I kept playing the highlights in my mind over and over. I thought I should transcribe it and share it with you. But you may quote not.
—Sherma

Ten years ago, I’d been told I’d one day come home a failure. And pregnant…unwed. Ha ha! Can anyone show me the child a faceless father and I conceived? Ten years ago I’d been told I’ll never make it, that I was too poor to even dream of ever making it. Luckily I didn’t listen. I shudder to think what I would have become if I had.

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Poverty, principle, and determination do not breed a weakling.

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I don’t have much respect for a person who cannot play clean — someone who’d stoop so low as to step on someone else’s toes and use other people to get there (Wherever that is). I could work, charm, bitch, and bluff my way to where I wanna be. But dammit, I play fair.

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What I am now is the result of all the pleasant and the dreadful things that life had dealt me — all the challenges I conquered, the trials I failed, the tears I shed, the pain I endured, the laughter that rang out of my lips, and the love that I shared.

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This is who I am now. Whatever I gained, whatever I lost, whatever is left of me, sum me up.
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I have been both very careful and extremely reckless in all my steps. That’s why I’m here.
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I know what I’ve got and I’d do my damn best to capitalize on it — to make up for the things I don’t have…and may never get.
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With the exception of my family, there is nothing I got in this life that I didn’t have to work hard and fight for. But then, I think I have more than enough.

The Journey

I am a restless soul who has come to visit this wilderness
Looking for answers to all the questions
I don’t quite comprehend
Trying to understand clues
to all the puzzles I come across
Finding reasons to all the things that happen
I may not find all
I may not understand everything
Still I keep walking
Feeling happiness to all the joy
and shedding tears for every pain
Riding the circus of the journey’s ups and downs
Getting acquainted with the gruesome face
of greed, deception, and betrayal
Falling every now and then
But still continuing with my trek, unfalteringly
Until this journey’s got meaning
Until I see the light
Until I finish the mission for which I’ve come and
of which up until now I don’t understand
Until the last piece of the puzzle’s in place
Only then that this soul rests.


Copyright Sherma E. Benosa

Angel's Wicked Side

(Warning: Contains foul language. Read at your own risk.)

I believe I am an optimist. You know, the kind who would look at a half-filled glass as half full, rather than half empty.

But there are also times when I just can’t help feeling lost. And restless. And helpless. Sometimes I feel that the world is so fucked up. That there are too many mean people around. That everyone’s just here, without purpose. That is, besides doing everything to make sure that the next person will have a hard time.

I shake my head, and command my goddam self to do what she oughtta do. Never mind that the world sucks. Never mind that everything’s been turned upside down. Never mind that she, too, feels fucked up.

Sometimes, just sometimes...

Life sucks!

About

My Page and Me

The Written Worl[l] of the Brainteaser is the ‘pensieve’ that holds my mind’s ramblings, the paper that keeps my pen’s scrawls, the simple note in the music of my life, and the rhyme in the poetry of my dreams.

I am a brainteaser seeking answers to my questions, and attempting to put together the clues of — and to find meaning to — the puzzle that is my life.

A proud owner of a crazy pen and a humble resident of the written world, I am a sojourner who travels through, and along, indefinable planes.

Do come, travel with me and be my friend…

Bits and Pieces

Spirit sailing
alone in the wilderness
bids goodbye, soon rests.
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Fate’s simply a plotted scene
played by the gods’ pawns
but my mind’s bent
to control my trails.
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I never needed love
and all the soft whisper and empty talks
until I found you.
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Beyond the stars
the soul of the night awakened
seeking for scars
my heart weakened.
----------------
Memories tinkling my grave.
Sounds of sorrow whisper—
“I am damned.”
Sighing, I taste goodbye.
----------------
Whisked to a star-strewn moment
I stood frozen
Sensing your warmth
Hot amber-glowing fire fluttered.
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You’ll never bother to look beyond the clouds
Without the reward of seeing the sky.
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His song of love whispered
softly and my heart warmed
and colored red.
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Sherma E. Benosa
Copyright 2001

Racing Against Time

On the average, I work 14 hours a day, six times a week, and stay in the office 130 hours of the 168-hour week. I should say that at the end of each week I am toxic and dead tired. I am, but only physically. Deep inside, there is an unexplainable feeling of restlessness that arrests me when I am most vulnerable—a restlessness that not even my exhausted body could suppress; a restlessness that fuels my spirit to soar high; and a restlessness that makes me believe that there is so much to do, in so little a time.

Sometimes I feel as though I am in constant race against Time, and that Time somehow manages to occasionally pull my leg by throwing at me extreme feelings of loneliness or happiness that make me want to stop and either enjoy life or wallow in misery. And when I do, I’d soon realize that I’d been tricked, and that Time had run so far ahead that I could barely catch up.

So I'd put myself back on gear again, exerting every strength I could muster, running as fast as I could, wanting to overcome Time and win the game. But even the most determined soul has its limitations. I too, am not immune to these. In every step I’d made, there had always been something in the way that I had to face before I could make another step. On most occasions, I’d had to move sideward in order to move forward.

“What am I to do? Am I not lucky that I have reached this far despite the things I had to go through? So I have not reached that which I’ve set out to achieve, but then, they weren’t realistic in the first place. Hey, I’ve managed to pull out of every catastrophe thrown my way!” So there go the excuses I’d made for myself for the little-above-satisfactory performance I'd put in. Tsk!

But who the heck am I kidding? If I were to be honest, I must admit that I had not truly exhausted all the possible options I could have taken, that I had let myself be detained by my perceived limitations, and that I had foolishly succumbed to the fearful little voice inside me which kept asking, “What happens if you fail?”

And so I’ve been extremely careful in all my steps. Where I should have leapt, I opted to look first, until fear of what might happen had enveloped me that I eventually lost the courage to jump. Where I should have readily moved on, I chose to look back and what I saw either tied me to the past or made me be wary of what was ahead, that in my moments of indecision, good opportunities had passed me by. Where I should have confidently taken over, I had let other people take control of the things that directly affected me, until I realized a little too late that I could have done the job much better.

It’s not yet late, though. One thing that I have learned lately about the concept of time is that, when seen in a different perspective, perhaps in the long-term scale, there really is no such thing as being too early or too late. This I say, because for years I kept postponing doing something I’ve always wanted to do, thinking that it was too early and that I was too young. So I waited for it to happen in its right time. Or shall I say, I waited for Opportunity to come knocking at my door and hand me the assurance that the odds were on my side. But it never came. Before I knew it, Time had already passed me by.

Then, I thought that it was already too late, that I was too old, and that I may never make it. For some time, I let myself believe these. Until lately, I came to understand that it is not Time that chooses when it is perfect for things to happen; it is I who should make Time be right for what I want to happen.

So now I am working double time to make up for the lost time. Soon, I’d be side by side with Time again. Who knows, I might even be able to trick him into slowing down a little. That should not be too hard. I have already started. So much more shall happen. Simply because I’ve decided it’s time…

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*I've been told once that time is not something to race against, rather, travel with—a wisdom of age that (not so) young people like myself have yet to learn. Part of me wants to slow down and find time to smell the flowers and live each day as it comes. But then, the other part of me would not want to look back to this day when I am much older and count all the opportunities I’d missed because I’d been busy romancing the sunset that I didn’t recognize them when they presented themselves to me. I would not want to find myself wishing to turn back time to do the things I should have done. There is nothing more tragic, I think, than to have might-have-beens and if-onlys one too many. Regret is that one thing I don’t look forward to dealing with.